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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368386">i don't fit in with earthlings destined to die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/froyas/pseuds/froyas'>froyas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>how to save the galaxy in 10 easy steps: a detailed guide for heroes, soldiers, and martyrs [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mass Effect Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, alternative title; when daddy issues meet mommy issues, and there's almost not a single mention of the abo, it's complicated. i'm rewriting the universe while also sticking painfully close to canon, no beta we die like shepard, shepard is 24 in this fic, there rarely will be any smut, this is a long fic focused on plot so this might be for you even if abo is not your thing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:21:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368386</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/froyas/pseuds/froyas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels the taste of ash in her mouth, and her breath catches in her throat when she inhales. These cold blue eyes stare at her as if they know a secret she doesn't, a passage to her soul that she isn't aware of and currently, they are the only thing keeping her afloat. Being alive shouldn't hurt so much. </p><p>Someone should've given Shepard a guidebook on how to come back from the dead without losing her sanity. In retrospect, the galaxy should've consulted her before turning her into Atlas.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miranda Lawson/Female Shepard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>how to save the galaxy in 10 easy steps: a detailed guide for heroes, soldiers, and martyrs [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i don't fit in with earthlings destined to die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> "Wake up, Commander." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The twitch of her fingers sent a jolt of pain up her body, and her ribs protested with each beat of her heart. She could hear the loud frantic <em>thump-thump </em>of it as it <em>pounded </em>against its cage with ears that didn't feel entirely like her own, like she was drifting aimlessly underwater, deeper and deeper — each second bringing her farther away from the atmosphere. <b> <em>No</em></b>. The cries of her lungs told her a different story, the pain of her muscles whispered words to her she couldn't quite understand. Her arm did not budge, and the desperation inside her lungs grew to the size of a large beast, threatening to eat anything in its path. Bright lights flashed through her mind, flames engulfing her as she fell, and fell, and — It hit her then, <em> the pressure seals were damaged</em>. Panic settled into sore bones, curling around her veins like a poisonous snake, sinking its sharp fangs into her skin. </p><p><em>Air</em>. She needed air. The Normandy was falling, she could hear the sound of explosions muffled in the distance, and Shepard needed to reach the seals. Her heartbeat rose as she found herself unable to move, unable to <em>breathe</em>, lost in the darkness as everything around her <em>shook </em>and <em>collapsed</em>. She could feel the heat creeping in her damaged hardsuit, her distress reaching higher levels as pain flooded her body. She couldn't touch the seals, couldn't move in this body that wasn't her own, couldn't breathe, and her lungs begged for air, burning inside her torso. <em>She couldn't breathe</em>, couldn't focus, feeling herself slipping further into this endless darkness, and she needed air, desperately tried to move her arms, but nothing happened. <em>She needed</em> — </p><p>
  <em> "Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed now. This facility is under attack." </em>
</p><p>Green eyes opened with a gasp for breath, half shooting upward and freezing in pain as every muscle and every bone in her body began to sing the song of battles, coming back to life in a roar. Her lungs joined with choirs of <em>joy</em>, of <em>thankfulness </em>for each heavy breath she took, the taste of <em>air </em>sweet as honey and more addicting than any drop of alcohol. Tears pooled in her eyes and Shepard coughed, her throat sore and heavy as if she had swallowed broken glass. The stale chill air of <em>medbay </em>overpowered the smell of ash and blood in her nostrils, but she still could feel the coppery taste in her mouth, bitter and stronger than her morning coffees. </p><p>
  <em> "Shepard. Your scars aren't healed, but I need you to get moving." </em>
</p><p>She could see shots being fired by the windows above her, provoking her body to instinctively jump into action. But her skin felt stretched too thin and her bones felt like they were made of feathers, and she clumsily <em>half-collapsed</em> to the side of the bed, hanging onto it with one arm while the other gripped her side, a painful groan escaping her dry lips when her knees hit the ground. The sudden motion caused the world around her to blurry and spin, nausea hitting her like a powerful thunderstorm — enough that Shepard had to close her eyes and inhale deeply through her nose, holding in the air. That, however, made fear grip at the edges of her heart and lungs, like a child pulling at the hem of their mother's tunic for attention, and she exhaled as quickly as she could, resting her head on the cold metal frame of the bed as her breathing pattern fell back into <em>desperate</em>. </p><p>
  <em> "There's a pistol in the locker on the other side of the room. Hurry!" </em>
</p><p>The hand gripping her sore ribs tightened its hold, and Shepard clenched her jaw to swallow down a groan of frustration. Her mouth tasted like ash now. Ash, hospital air, burnt flesh, and <em> plain toothpaste </em> . <em> Blood too</em>, she noticed as she ran her tongue over her teeth. Using her open palm to push herself up, Shepard forced her eyes open again, quickly glancing at the door before she spotted the locker — <em> miles away, it seemed</em>. Her legs were not steady, and the queasiness in her stomach became worse when she wobbled forward, using the bed for support. She managed a few steps before she fell to her knees, palms flat against the floor and teeth digging into her lips to prevent herself from screaming in pain. Her head throbbed as she pushed herself back up, one hand immediately returning to her side to put pressure against her ribs in a hollow attempt to soothe the pain. <em> She could do it</em>.</p><p>
  <em> "You don't have time to wait around, Shepard! Grab your weapon and armor!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ... After all, she had no choice.  </em>
</p><p>Breathing in through her nose and exhaling from her mouth seemed to trick her stomach into a false sense of stability, long enough for Shepard to take it one step at a time without the bile rising to her throat causing any more <em>damage</em>. She urged her legs to lead her to the sink by the locker, begging her sore muscles and aching bones to support her without further <em>tumbles</em>. They complied until her fingertips grazed over cold metal, and <em>exhaustion </em>washed over her like waves crashing against the shore, causing Shepard to collapse once more — her saving grace being the sink she heavily leaned on. With a shaky hand, she opened the faucet and threw a splash of the cold water on her face, suddenly feeling her mouth dry and thirst settling in with the abundance of <em>discomforts </em>in her abdomen. She would take a sip, <em> just a sip</em>, and everything would be alright.</p><p>
  <em> "Focus, Shepard! Grab the pistol and armor from the locker." </em>
</p><p>Fingers twitched where they rested on metal, and she puffed out her cheeks, scrunching her nose as she considered whether hallucinations were tormenting her — or someone truly was this <em>inconsiderate </em>towards her plight. With effort, she raised her head enough to peer at the locker, before her eyes dipped down to stare at hands so <em>pale </em>and trembling, droplets of water dripping down her face to fall on the sink below, the water still running in front of her. <em> She couldn't do this</em>, Shepard realized, standing on unstable legs with an unsteady grip. She couldn't move a single step more, couldn't push herself past this. <em> This was the limit</em>. She couldn't —  </p><p><em> "Shepard!" </em> </p><p>
  <em> Alright. </em>
</p><p>Slapping her hand over the hand-scanner made the locker's door slide down and the entire thing <em>trembled</em>, stumbling with the force of her frustration. No regards were given to the locker, though, as her eyes were <em>transfixed </em>on the armor arranged within metal walls. Bracing herself as best as she could, Shepard took a step closer to the locker, worries and distress fading from her mind rapidly once her fingers touched the shoulder guards. She couldn't remember reaching out for the armor in the first place, but she fell into a trance, fingertips tracing the familiar logo over the chest piece, knots forming in her throat and her vision obscured by sudden tears. She sniffed, <em> refusing </em>to let them drop — knowing this was no place to cry, but sadness gripped her heart regardless, faces and names filling her head with the strength of whirlwinds as she closed her eyes, letting her head drop for a moment. <em> How many had died? Had any of her crew made it out alive? She remembers the bodies laying around the Normandy, lifeless and being eaten by flames. Was she the only one left? Had Shepard failed all of them?  </em></p><p><em> "Shepard, we don't have time for this!" </em> </p><p>Prying her eyes open, she removed the dull hospital grown she donned with difficulty, curiosity making her steal a glance at her legs and breath out in relief — <em> At least she </em><b><em>was</em> </b><em>wearing pants. Her dignity could rest assured Shepard had not fallen butt naked, at least. </em>A laugh started bubbling in her chest, but no sound made out of her tired lips, and Shepard resigned to simply putting her armor on. </p><p>The voice remained thankfully quiet during the <em>slow </em>process, giving Shepard enough peace of mind to concentrate on not <em>throwing up </em>or falling to the floor once more. Her bones protested with each piece she dressed, sweat running down the back of her neck before she was fully covered. <em> What had happened to her? </em></p><p>Clicking the last piece into place, Shepard found it easier to stand up without faltering, but her entire body felt like it was made of <em>pure metal</em>. Taking a single step took tremendous effort, and Shepard knew if she planned to fight her way out of this place, she would have to give her everything — <em>maybe it still wouldn't be</em> <em>enough</em>. The electricity buzzing just under her skin, <em>humming loud enough for her ears only</em>, was of little comfort at the moment; she knew she would break if she <em>charged</em> in this state. But knowing her implants were there, her biotics still working even if dormant currently, gave her some <em>relief</em>. <em>Fleeting</em> as it may have been, it granted her enough <em>spunk</em> to grab the pistol and continue, despite the protests of her tired lungs and pounding head. </p><p>Turning the piece over in her hand, her brows furrowed in confusion. </p><p>"This pistol doesn't have a thermal clip," the words <em>clawed </em>out of her mouth in a painful breath, and Shepard had to bite the inside of her cheek to refrain from groaning in pain. Her own voice sounded strange to her ears, hollow and dry, her tongue going over each syllable slowly, as if she had to remember how words sound, <em> how they taste</em>. The skin of her throat felt cut to pieces, making her wonder if she had swallowed glass <em>and </em>washed it down with <em>gasoline</em>. <em> How long had it been since she last spoke? Since she drank water? Oh, she was so thirsty. </em></p><p><em> "It's a medbay," </em> annoyance dripped from the voice in abundance, Shepard noticed, as if whoever was speaking felt <em>irritated </em>at having to mention something so <em>obvious</em>. Shepard would have rolled her eyes if her head wasn't throbbing so much. <em> "We'll get you a clip from — Damn it! Those canisters by the door are going to blow! Get behind cover, now!" </em></p><p>Her eyes quickly swept the room for a cover, adrenaline fueling her body enough for her to quickly slide behind a transparent banister without <em>much </em>protest. Her bones still felt stiff and burned out as she overworked them, but the discomfort was not enough to make her want to scream in agony this time.</p><p>
  <em> "Keep your head down, Shepard! Shield yourself from the blast!" </em>
</p><p><em> What you think I'm doin </em>— </p><p>When the room around her shook and the heat took over, Shepard covered her head with both hands, shutting her eyes close and breathing rapidly — if only to remind herself that she <em>could. </em> Her ears began to <em>ring</em>, all the noises in the room sinking under its sound, and her head seemed to have exploded with the door; the throbbing sounding like drums of war going off in her mind now. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest and her stomach grew more upset with the smell of scorched metal plaguing her nostrils, but still Shepard rose from her hiding spot. Slowly and tentatively her hands fell to her sides, her grip on the handler of the pistol becoming <em>blood-cutting </em>tight as she opened her eyes. Tears filled her vision once more, and a sigh fled her lips in relief, or perhaps <em>fear </em> . She wasn't sure, <em> didn't want to be right now</em>.</p><p>
  <em> "Someone's hacking security trying to kill you." </em>
</p><p>"Why?"</p><p><em> "I don't know," </em> the voice sighed, the lowest — <em> and gentlest </em> — Shepard had heard it speak, and a dry chuckle fell from her lips at that. <em> "Look for a thermal clip for your pistol and get moving." </em></p><p>"This is a medbay," Shepard couldn't help but repeat the words in a mocking tone, legs navigating past the fire and debris carefully. The voice said nothing to that, and Shepard would've counted it as a victory, small and insignificant as it may be, but —</p><p>Her attitude faltered once she crossed the threshold of the medbay and her eyes landed on the body in front of her. The smell of death permeated the air, and Shepard had to cover her mouth and nose with a hand to prevent herself from gagging. Quickly looking away to stare at a blank spot on the wall, Shepard pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, one lonely tear finally rolling down her face. </p><p>"Shit. <em> Fuck </em>." </p><p>
  <em> "Shepard." </em>
</p><p>"Yes. Fuck, I know," her voice trembled, and Shepard sighed. "I know."</p><p>With a clear of her throat, she returned her gaze to the body, curling her fingers and stretching them — hoping to hear her bones pop. When no sound pierced the eerily silence that had slowly crept in the small access room, Shepard sank to her knees next to the woman, half slipping on the puddle of what she <em>assumed </em>was blood but couldn't bring herself to check. Glassy unmoving eyes stared intensely at her as she searched for a thermal clip, poking and turning the body until she found her target hiding under it; bloodstained but <em>thankfully </em>full. Flashes of <em> Elysium </em>disturbed her mind once Shepard gently turned the woman's body to its original position and her eyes locked with brown <em>dead </em>ones. A battlefield was never a serene final resting place, but a painfully tragic one that brought no peace to families or friends left behind. She couldn't help but wonder if this woman was leaving someone behind. In Elysium she had seen families being slaughtered together, their bodies carelessly dismissed in their half-destroyed apartments by the batarians who managed to land in the colony. She encountered children who had witnessed their parents' demise hiding in cabinets and dark alleys, holding their cries in fear of being caught. She wonders if this woman has a child, oblivious to their mother's death and waiting eagerly for her to come back home. Or possibly <em>worse</em>; a child all alone hiding somewhere in the station, shaking and terrified of the <em>monsters </em>outside. A shudder ran through her body at the thought, and a sob got caught in the knots tightening around her throat. She couldn't think about that now. She did, briefly, search the body for tags that could be sent to the <em>hypothetical </em>family once she leaves this place, but came out empty-handed, the only thing to be found was a logo at the front of the woman's shirt. <em> Familiar </em>somehow, but not enough to give the woman an identity. <em> No name, left to rot forgotten in the entrance of the medbay </em> — </p><p>"This is no way to die. I'm sorry." With gentle hands, she closed the woman's eyes, leaving a trail of blood following her touch.</p><p>There was a creeping wave of lightheadedness when she stood up, causing her to sway slightly on her feet and pant for breath, pain roiling through her body and droplets of cold sweat clinging to the skin on the back of her neck. A bang went off in her ears and all she could see was <em>light, </em>as if she had been standing in the way of a lightning strike and was hit by its massive power, being temporarily blinded by it. It lasted for the briefest of moments as the <em>fog </em>covering her eyes gave way to the colors of the world, the noise in her ear settling down for a dulled somewhat <em>tolerable </em>buzzing that muffled the sounds of the medbay behind her. The edges of her vision were turning to black, and things were starting to blurry and double as she looked around, so Shepard tried to blink the world back into focus. <em> One blink</em>, and Elysium was burning around her, the sounds of death and pain a distant memory she wished to forget. <em> Two blinks</em>, and she was back in Akuze, blood dripping down her head as she half-carried a wounded soldier while in search of safety. <em> Three blinks</em>, and it all merged into one — quick as a needle puncture, but enough to disorient her. </p><p>
  <em> "Looks like they set up a barricade to try holding the mechs off." </em>
</p><p>The voice cut through her thoughts swiftly, pulling her back into reality as a siren call — and Shepard's brow furrowed in confusion when she noticed the doors had slid open, allowing her to inspect the hastily made barricade of chairs and boxes in front of her.</p><p>Her eyes darted between the door and the body by her feet, and Shepard clenched her sore jaw, cheeks twitching slightly under the pressure. <em> Were you looking for safety and medigel? Or did you die trying to protect me? </em></p><p>The thought caused a sudden heat to overcome her body, a sort of <em>fierceness </em> Shepard was rather familiar with and <em>embraced </em>in moments where she felt herself slipping into the darkest parts of her mind. She greeted this <em>violence </em>like an old friend, allowing it to take control of her body as trembling hands reloaded her gun and pushed forward, quickly vaulting over the barricaded, just crouching back into cover before taking a decisive shot and watching the mech fall to the ground with a loud thud. </p><p>She stared at the malfunctioning mech for long seconds before she dragged her eyes to the tall windows by her left, gazing into the vastness of the universe, stars seemingly mocking her as they stretched beyond what her eyes could see. The comfort she thought would be found watching the galaxy outside was not present. It didn’t help quench the dizziness ever-growing, but instead caused fear to coil in her stomach and panic grip her lungs. As her heartbeat picked up, her eyes focused on the white detail decorating the otherwise clean windows, her head tilting in curiosity. That logo again.</p><p><em> Huh. She wonders where she has seen that before. Perhaps </em>— </p><p>
  <em> "Keep moving, Shepard. We need to get you to the shuttles." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Right. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Fighting alongside Jacob Taylor <em>momentarily </em>filled her with the confidence of heading into battle knowing a trusted crewmate would have her back. His presence, helpful as it turned out to be, had been nothing more than a double-edged sword gifted to her in a moment of fragility, however. She had, shortly before running across the soldier, lost contact with the voice leading her through this sudden battle-field. The commands given to her had enraged Shepard severely; the woman openly disregarded Shepard's obvious struggle in favor of telling her where to go, what to do, and hurrying her along if Shepard took <em>a second </em>too long to obey her orders. But Shepard had become dreadfully <em>absent-minded </em>when she had seen bodies piled up in the Observatory, and had surprisingly found solace in the voice carrying her past enemies and through the facility. The composure and authority in the woman's tone induced a sense of calmness to overflow Shepard's distress, and despite the strain simply <em>walking </em>caused, Shepard managed to take down the mechs hunting for her <em>relatively </em>unscathed. But the woman was ripped from her in a burst of shots and explosions, replaced instead by a long moment of static before thick silence befell over her, loneliness making a home out of her sore bones and heavy heart. </p><p>Stumbling upon Jacob, outnumbered by mechs and seemingly surprised to see her, gave Shepard a brief adrenaline rush - enough for her to set aside her thunderous panic and join the man in taking down the remaining mechs. Her <em>already</em> scanty moment of <em>ease</em> shattered when the man gave a quick debrief on the situation as they both took cover behind the rail, a grazing shot hitting the side of her head and causing blood to ooze out of the shallow wound and drip down the side of her face. <em>Dead as dead can be</em>, his words reverberated in her mind as she watched the last of the mechs fall, the world spinning faster than her eyes could follow once she stood up, heavily leaning on the banister for support. </p><p>Jacob pondered their options — <em>counting how many bullets he had left in his clip and busying himself with unlocking the door behind him</em> — and Shepard took advantage of his distraction to catch her breath, hunched over the banister and counting her fingers over and over again. If he had been truthful in his words, <em>and Shepard felt reluctant to distrust him</em>, she was gone for two years. <em>Dead</em>. <em>The alliance declared her dead</em>. Surely they must have known, must've brought her here — wherever <em>here</em> was. <em>Two years</em>. Hard as she attempted to prevent it, her mind wandered on its own volition, and Shepard couldn't help but wonder; <em>had her lungs burned? </em>The difficulty to draw in air, the constant feeling of not having enough air in her lungs, or not breathing enough — <em>Asphyxia. Had she suffocated? </em></p><p>Bile rose in her throat, and Shepard closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek in a weak attempt of maintaining control. </p><p>"Alright," Jacob's voice broke the turmoil and managed to halt her mind from delving deeper into a line of thought Shepard <em>shouldn't </em>entertain, and for that she was thankful. "I promised I'd answer your questions. What do you want to know?"</p><p>As she turned to face the soldier, numerous questions invaded her brain — <em> plenty she wouldn't fancy hearing the answers of </em> — but only one escaped her lips, her voice hoarse and slow, "When I woke up, someone named Miranda was talking to me over the radio. We lost contact just before I ran into you. Do you know if she made it?" </p><p>Her words <em>startled </em>her — spurting out of her mouth before she could properly determine her priorities. Jacob didn't seem fazed, but his brows furrowed and his eyes clouded as he mused over her inquiry, and Shepard grew uneasy when the seconds ticked by and the man appeared lost in thought. She straightened her posture, holding her arms behind her back and shifted her weight from leg to leg, bouncing on her feet as she anticipated the worst. </p><p>"Miranda Lawson is the station's ranking office," he eventually responded, his voice just as smooth as it had been before. <em> Not always a good sign, </em> Shepard knew. "She led the Lazarus team. It was her job to bring you back to life, no matter what. Should've guessed she'd try to save you. She is not about to give up on you <em>now</em>. You said you lost contact — could you tell what was happening?" </p><p>"No," Shepard sighed, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Didn't sound good, though. There were gunfires and an explosion right before I lost her."</p><p>The man visibly swallowed, and her eyes dipped down, observing as the grip on his gun tightened and his breathing became patterned. <em> He is struggling to keep a level head too</em>, she noticed, returning her gaze to his face. </p><p>"She knows how to take care of herself," Jacob reassured her, <em> or perhaps tried to convince himself</em>. His voice softened, coming out in a breath once he spoke again, "but I hope she is okay." </p><p>She gave him a nod, squinting her eyes when the movement caused a sharp spike of pain to knock the breath out of her. If Jacob noticed, he refrained from commenting, but the man had a distant look in his eyes and Shepard found herself hesitating to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. The words tasted bitter and rotten, a poison corroding the skin of her mouth the longer it remained there. But she found herself powerless to swallow them back too, as if that alone would crush her organs and render her useless. She desperately <em>needed </em>to know, craved answers that would undoubtedly destroy her regardless of the outcome. <em>Two years</em>, her mind <em>screeched</em> in despair, her bones joining in the anguish. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>"The last thing I remember is the Normandy blowing up," she finally admitted, visions of her ship coming apart flashing in her mind. She <em> loathed </em>the look of pity surging in Jacob's eyes, so she puffed out her chest and pulled off the band-aid — "Did anyone else make it out?"</p><p>Jacob didn't move, she noticed, standing on the tip of her toes for a second as she inhaled deeply. He must have known by now she was carefully observing his demeanor, counting the seconds in between his breaths and noting every tiny movement she could see in his face. Or perhaps he was a perfect agent; keeping his composure during dangerous circumstances and hiding critical information from her. Shepard found it highly <em>implausible</em>, rejecting that possibility with no guilt in her mind. From the short moment she had spent with Jacob, Shepard had gauged him to be a man who wore his heart in his sleeve — his <em>sincerity</em> felt genuine in ways she could not explain. Besides, it was a rarity to find people that could <em>truly</em> mask their emotions among soldiers like Jacob and herself. It was <em>natural</em> to keep their body straight and unmoving, <em>a pillar of strength</em>, in situations such as this, <em>yes</em>, but the eyes — that always would give them away. His didn't meet hers, his fingers nervously twitched, and he stood taller. <em>No, not an agent nor a perfect soldier, but a good man</em>. One who unquestionably was contemplating between softening the blow or telling her the truth. She had been in his shoes before; the bearer of bad news, their heart heavy with pity and guilt of acts they didn't commit — and she detested to be the one putting Jacob in this situation now. But she needed to know, craved it as much as her lungs pained for air, so she waited until he reached a verdict.</p><p>"Just about everybody survived," his words caused her to exhale, unclenching her fingers and nodding again in understatement. She remembered the bodies, however, and his next words were hard to swallow, "a few servicemen from the lower decks didn't get out. Navigator Pressly was killed by an explosion." <em> She could see him in the cockpit behind Joker's chair. </em> During the attack, Shepard had hardly paid attention to the lifeless figure as she ushered Joker inside the escape pod. <em> She should have saved him. Saved them all. </em> <b> She was their Commander</b>. This is all her fault. "But everyone else, including the non-Alliance crew - the asari, Liara, and the quarian - they all made it out alive."</p><p>It became more painful to breathe, Shepard noticed, as if there were blood clogging her windpipe and she soon would start <em>gurgling</em>. The little air that managed to get into her lungs tasted heavily of <em>death</em>, rotten and thick, making her tongue twist inside her mouth. Her sense of dread grew, the beating of her heart frantically <em>roaring </em>in her ears, and her arms twitched once more with the <em>need </em>to reach the pressure seals. The Normandy fell, taking with her a small amount of her crew — <em> brave people, good people </em> — burying their hopes and dreams in the confines of her destroyed walls. Shepard should've been among the fallen, should've been the <em>only one </em>to make of the Normandy her final resting place. <em> She was their Commander</em>. Their lives depended on her, and she had failed them. After Akuze, <em> after Elysium</em>, she had promised she would not fail anyone again. It was what the Alliance expected of her. <em> What humanity expected of her</em>. Shepard had no right to stand here, <em> alive</em>, when so many were dead. <em> Elysium, Akuze, and now the Normandy </em> — she wasn't the hero people praised her to be. <em> Not with that many casualties and blood on her hands</em>.</p><p><em> Shepard</em>, <em>just try to stay calm</em>, a voice called for her deep in the fog permeating her mind — as she began panting for air — oddly <em>familiar </em>yet strangely <em>alien </em>to her ears, but causing a sense of <em>stillness </em>to wash over her nonetheless, enough for her to breathe in through her nose and exhale through her mouth again, deceiving her stomach and aching lungs for the moment. If Jacob noticed anything amiss, he refrained from commenting. Instead, he leaned forward briefly, as if ready to catch her if she collapsed. Perhaps she looked dead on her feet. </p><p><em> Ha</em>.  </p><p>"Do you know what any of them are doing now?" She still found it difficult to speak, but the pain had dulled and became nothing more than a <em> discomfort</em>, one she shoved down and chose to overlook. "My crew, I mean." </p><p>"I don't know, Commander," his response was just as earnest as before, but there was a twinge in his voice — a touch of <em>something </em>dimly perceptible that caught her attention, and instinctively she straightened her posture, carefully scrutinizing the man she <em>thought </em>she could trust. "It's been two years. They've moved on. Left the Alliance. Could be anywhere."</p><p>He was attempting to divert her attention, lead her into mistakenly trusting this <em>stranger </em>she had just met. Perhaps stir her far away from thoughts of her crew and friends, of pondering why they were not here, <em> with her</em>, fighting alongside her how it should have been. Of questioning who precisely these people are. </p><p><em> Huh. She better stay watchful now</em>. Letting her defenses down for the moment had not been wise. <em> Foolish girl</em>.</p><p>"They were my team. If they knew I was alive, they'd come back," if he could pick on the arrogance of her tone, <em>the defiance in her voice</em>, he didn't recoil from it. Shepard <em>could</em> applaud him for standing his ground so well <em>if </em>she did not desperately wish to knock him out and run as far as her legs would carry her. She could take him, <em>certainly</em>, even in the state she currently found herself in. Her bones wanted to object, but her fists itched for action — <em>and well</em>, Shepard is known for her brutality during distress. There were no exit routes she had vision of, however, and the threat of running into more mechs <em>alone</em> in the mazes of hallways without <em>the voice</em> guiding her — It was enough to make her decide playing along was her safest bet of leaving this place alive. </p><p>"Maybe you can track them down after we get off the station," he said, emphasizing <em>we</em>, she noticed, wanting to chuckle at his boldness. " <em> If </em> we get off the station," he added as an afterthought, <em> defeat </em>heavy in his tone and a distant look in his eyes, his shoulders dropping down enough for her to take pity on him. Enemy or not, he was just as trapped as she was.</p><p>"What's the quickest way to those shuttles?"</p><p>Jacob's stance relaxed, relief so apparent in his face that Shepard began to doubt her <em>apprehension</em>. Dismissing her gut-feeling and concerns now would be a tremendous mistake, a mistake which could lead to her demise or capture if she didn't remain alert, so Shepard decided to not drop her guards regardless of how conflicted her feelings towards the soldier were at the moment. Circumstances such as the one she found herself tangled in caused judgment and emotions to become unstable. <em>Shepard knew that better than anyone</em>. </p><p>"Depends where the mechs are thickest," he said, focusing on the map his omni-tool displayed. Shepard tried to memorize the design of the station as much as she could, eyes fixating on the bright orange holo as Jacob held his arm between the two of them. "It's probably best if we-"</p><p>The holo flickered, causing Jacob to go silent, his sentence interrupted by the sound of static that made the two soldiers look at each other in worry before a voice came through; </p><p>
  <em> "Check. Check. Anyone on this frequency? Anybody still alive? Hello?"    </em>
</p><p>Not the voice Shepard <em>yearned </em>to hear, but one just as familiar — confusion weighting in her heart just as much as <em>disappointment</em>. <em> Where had she heard that voice before? </em> While curiosity permeated her lungs, Jacob appeared thrilled by this turn of events; whereas the man had <em>deflated </em>moments ago, now his posture straightened once more, and he stood at his full height as his body buzzed with energy. <em> A friend of his perhaps? </em> Or was the soldier just glad someone survived this seemingly <em>slaughter</em>? She too could feel a weight being lifted from her shoulders — small and not enough to facilitate <em>breathing </em> , but knowing there was one less body she would have to ignore and leave behind had her sighing in relief. She still gnawed on the inside of her cheek, thinking of <em> Miranda </em>and what-ifs — what if the woman was now just a number in this body count that would remain uncounted? What if she was relentlessly fighting her way through a wave of mechs, alone and hurt? <em> What if, what if, what if </em>— Shepard breathed in, filling her mouth with air as she shifted her weight from a leg to the other, attempting to focus back on Jacob. </p><p>"Wilson? This is Jacob," he spoke into the coms, and Shepard occupied her mind with the lights of his omni-tool, hoping to push thoughts of a woman she didn't know away from her mind, but her hand still twitched with the urge to run and bring down these walls in search of her. <em> Fuck</em>. "I'm here with Commander Shepard. Just took out a wave of mechs over in D wing."</p><p><em>"Shepard's alive? How the hell..."</em> <em>That</em> caught her attention. Shepard's eyebrow lifted, and her head tilted slightly to the side. <em>Interesting. "Never mind. You need to get her out of here. Get to the service tunnels and head for the network control room."</em></p><p>"Roger that, Wilson. Stay on this frequency." She watched Jacob shut his omni-tool off, abstaining from commenting as the man nodded towards the door behind him, reading his pistol with renewed vigor. "C'mon. The service tunnels are this way."</p><p>Shepard couldn't share his <em>enthusiasm </em>as she checked what was left of her ammo, her limbs heavy despite the short break she indulged in. Suddenly, concerns about betrayal seemed <em>meaningless </em>compared to the pain of her bones, the queasiness in her stomach, the throbbing of her head — she wavered once more, begging her legs to remain steady as she began to follow Jacob into <em>uncertainty</em>. </p><p>
  <em> She could only hope not to faint along the way. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All mistakes are mine. English is not my first language, so I apologize. This chapter was meant to be longer, but I had to cut it in half. Hope you enjoy this journey!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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